Touching The Surface Part 2

It felt like a slap. "What are you going to do, then? Just discover everything without me? Avoid me and move on? What's going to happen if you make sense of everything before I do and then you leave? We might not be able to get into a new stream together if we don't leave here at the same time."

"I know."

She said it quietly.

So quietly it was like a knife sliding in between my ribs and severing my heart into two pieces, halves that would never be whole again.

"Wella"now I guess I know too." I rolled over, putting my back to her. Now that I'd badgered her for the truth, I wanted to put it back where it'd come from. Neither one of us said anything, but I felt her hand perch upon my shoulder like a bird ready to take flight.

"Elliot?"

I didn't answer.

"There's one more thing you should know. I figured it out once you showed up at the Obmil and I could see what you looked like in your last life. We weren't together the way we've always been. We've already gone our separate ways."

4.

creation variation.

The next morning Julia was gone when I awoke. I was stiff and uncomfortable from sleeping in my clothes and staying on my right side in order to avoid looking at her. She'd snuck out early but left an origami crane sitting on my pillow. Cranes are supposed to be extremely loyal. Legend says that if you fold a thousand cranes you'll be granted a wonderful wish, like a long life. Since I was already dead at the age of seventeen and the closest soul I'd ever known wanted to get away from me as fast as possible, it was too depressing to think about.

I placed the crane on the shelf over Julia's bed, but then changed my mind. I didn't need a constant visual reminder of everything wrong between us. I held the tips of the wings between my fingers and gave a test pull. It wouldn't take much. I bit down on my lip. I couldn't bring myself to cause harm, even to a little paper crane. Compromising, I moved it to the corner of the shelf above my bed where I couldn't see it.

I glanced at my watch. Although I'd had the periodic urge to escape from the dark loneliness of our room last night, now I was finding it hard to leave the Nest, my nickname for the place. I headed out anyway, feeling as if I was traveling down the path of other people's choices.

Despite my reluctance to get to Workshop, I found I was actually enjoying my walk to the Delving School. I was torn between avoiding my past and enjoying the rush that came from playing with my surroundings. I knew the novelty of creating would soon wear off and become second nature, like breathing, but for the moment I greedily envisioned my two favorite seasons at the same time. I sighed as I watched beloved characteristics from autumn and spring jump to life in front of me. I was having so much fun tromping through crunchy leaves and smelling flowers that my steps became a little quicker, despite the fact that I wanted to avoid my destination. Thinking about it, I realized that the last thing I wanted to do right now was to engage in an emotional excavation of my last life. It wasn't like I was going to discover something gooda"how well could my last life have gone if I'd ended up here? But on the other handa"I'd be spending more time with Oliver since he would be in my Workshop.

When I reached the doors of the school, no one else seemed to be around. This was evident because the school appeared exactly as I would imagine the perfect school to be. Unlike the stability and continuity of the Haven, this building was subject to personal interpretation. It had a designated location in the clearing at the top of the western trail, but that was about as much consistency as this part of the Obmil offered. When no one was around I imagined the s.p.a.ce was like wavy heat dancing over hot pavement, but I was only guessing. Whenever I got close enough, my vision filled the gap.

With my imagination unimpeded, the main section of the building was stone and brick with large windows and ivy crawling any place it could get a hold. There were large majestic oaks, maples, and willows keeping guard around the edges while smaller, bud-laden trees held court in the front entrance. Over to the side there was an addition to the building, a seamless connection that was gla.s.s and light, beams and angles, a modern contrast to the ancient history of the brick and stone. It was the equivalent of the gla.s.s pyramid that announced the Louvre in Paris. It was wrong in such a way that it wouldn't be right if it were any other way, at least for me.

Resigning myself to my fate at Workshop, I headed toward the towering dark wood doors. Suddenly they disappeared. I found myself standing in front of a drab gray urban warehouse of a building. Where there once was ivy and gently warmed stone, now stood graffitied concrete and dirty chicken-wired windows that blocked me from seeing inside. A mere two inches from my face, a vent belched moist, dank air straight at my nose.

My gut told me exactly who had done this. Somewhere nearby was the sullen-looking Trevor with the piercing blue eyes. Only he would create something like this. Instinct suggested I move out of his way, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch again.

I had two options. One was to stand there and fight it out with Trevor, to try and override his pathetic preference in architecture. Or I could partially suspend belief and share the design. If we had a creative confrontation I couldn't imagine how long we'd be standing there flipping architecture back and forth, but it killed me to have to cocreate with Trevor. I felt a twinge of guilt. Hadn't this been what Julia was suggestinga"that I had to always have things my own way? I shrugged it off, because that couldn't possibly apply here. No one in their right mind picked rusty chicken wire as a decor choice. He had an agenda.

It was so silent I could hear the soft ticks of the minute hand of my watch. I released the tension in my clenched fists, realizing that I'd have to at least give it a try. I hated feeling vulnerable, but if I didn't make the attempt, Trevor and I would find ourselves spending half the day ping-ponging between my creative vision and his dark and nasty view. Besides, I'd sworn to Mel that I wouldn't be late and I wasn't planning to break my promise, even to irritate someone so rude.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. A soft sigh of relief escaped me. He'd cooperated.

If I was honest with myself, the result of the cocreation wasn't that bad. The corners of my mouth turned up slightly. The outcome of blending our two visions was a modern version of my building, merged with a clean, almost architectural version of his.

A clock tower chimed and I reached for the handle of the sleek but elegant gla.s.s doors. My fingertips had just grazed the smooth metal when the whole door disappeared.

5.

unguided.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor dash into the building through a dinged and scratched windowless steel door that hadn't been there seconds before.

"Jerk!" I kicked the grungy brick wall. I didn't even have time to rub my throbbing toes as I darted into the building, heading for Workshop.

My toes were fine in seconds, but running like a startled rabbit down the hall left me frazzled and breathless by the time I reached Mel's door. I paused outside her cla.s.sroom to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts. I wanted to walk into the room seeming completely unruffled, but Trevor's antics had left me fl.u.s.tered. I needed to be calm and prepared. I knew once everyone was settled, I would have to step up to the Swing and Delve for my memories. My hands were sweating just thinking about it. I planted my face in my palms, trying to erase the sudden vision of myself in the Swing, everyone judging me. Things would be so much easier if Julia was here.

I'd never Delved before, but we'd witnessed other Delves during our last two visits to the Obmil. I'd learned a lot from watching other Third Timers dissect their pasts. But obviously I hadn't learned enough to avoid becoming a Third Timer myself. I should've listened to Mel more carefully; she was always dropping little hints about how easily anyone could find themselves being a Third Timer. But I'd never really thought it could happen to me. Now I was standing here with knots in my stomach, worried about being dropped like a rock into my own unenlightened past.

I felt a small sting as the taste of blood hit my tongue. I'd gnawed too voraciously on my cuticle. I sucked on the fresh wound, then stuffed my bloodied finger in my pocket, pus.h.i.+ng the door open with my hip. Turning to face the cla.s.s, I instantly realized I was the last one to arrive. I scanned the faces but stopped abruptly when I saw Oliver and Trevor glaring at each other with blatant hostility, sparks practically flying between the two.

Before I could break away from the sight of them, a low humming noise filled my ears. Everything was fading. My legs began to go numb. My knees sank to the floor. As Oliver and Trevor disappeared from view, I noticed a tiny pinp.r.i.c.k of light and heard the faintest sound of music in my ears. I'd never heard of anyone making a Delve unguided before, but my memories crashed over me before I could stop them.

a a a The applause no longer rang in my ears but the memory of it vibrated through my heart, causing me to feel more alive than I ever had before. Onstage I was someone special.

I opened the windows in the car and the wind whipped my hair around. I was glad I'd taken the extra minutes to remove my stage makeup before I met up with everyone at the cast party. It was the end of the school year and there wouldn't be many opportunities to get together with friends before we all went our separate directions. It always felt like the summer would be loaded with extra time, but jobs and vacations seemed to fill up all the potential empty s.p.a.ces.

Dad had offered to drive over with me, which was sweet, but I kind of wanted a few minutes to myself. I only needed to go a couple miles down the road to hook up with the cast and all my adoring fans. Elliot Turner having fansa"who would have thought? I felt lit from within.

I turned up the song that Mom had left in the car. I'd always been a music mutt, pulling inspiration from whatever was around. "Little Bird" by Annie Lennox was pumping like a heartbeat and I felt as if I was flying. I was alive, belting it out with Annie. It was just me on the road, except for a silver minivan up ahead. I was singing so loud I wondered if they could hear me.

"They always said that you knew best, But this little bird's fallen out of that nest now.

I've got a feeling that it might have been blessed, So I've just got to put these wings to test."

"d.a.m.n it!" My cell phone was ringing and my bag was on the floor. I hooked the strap with my finger and tugged. It didn't budge. I swiped the hair out of my face again and gave another tug as I glanced back up at the road. The bag flew up onto my lap, tipping over the morning's coffee remains.

"For I am just a troubled soul, Who's weighted . . .

Weighted to the ground.

Give me the strength to carry on, Till I can lay this burden down.

Give me the strength to lay this burden down . . ."

I could still hear the ring of the phone wandering off into the wind as I flipped it open and squeezed it against my ear. I blotted up the coffee. Oh s.h.i.+t! I was leaving a trail of damp tissue paper on my skirt and I didn't have another change of clothes for the party.

"h.e.l.lo?"

The airbag responded first, exploding into me. The seat belt bit into my chest, trying to hold me back from the metal and gla.s.s that had silenced Annie Lennox's voice. Something wasn't right, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. I felt as if my brain was moving at a fraction of its normal pace.

Oddly, I was now holding the phone clutched between my fingers. A panicked far-off voice kept screaming "Ellie!"

I tried to open the car door, but it didn't seem to work when I tugged at the handle. I used my shoulder to shove it. When I stepped out, a cascade of gla.s.s fragments leapt to the pavement and scattered like stars across the night sky.

I glanced up and saw the silver minivan with its front end wrapped around a tree, like a bun around a hot dog. The rear of the van was similar to an accordion. The sweet bite of gasoline crept into my nose. Unbidden, my feet began to move. I couldn't look at my car. Instead I walked in a wide circle to the front of the minivan. I was afraid to get too close, but I was magnetically drawn to the wreck.

The woman in the front seat was screaming. Blood streamed down her forehead and into her eyes. Her hands were flying everywhere. She was ripping at herself. Her seat belt finally released her and she was free. Stumbling out of the vehicle she practically tore the sliding door off its track. Her animalistic howl almost knocked me over. That's when I saw her: a little girl, maybe three or four years old, buckled into her car seat. My heart stopped as the mom grasped the little girl's head in her hands, smearing a b.l.o.o.d.y trickle across the side of her face. As if the woman's hands contained the spark of life, the little girl, ponytails crooked, reached for her, returning from horrific silence. The harder she strained against the car seat, wanting to be in her mother's arms, the louder her cries became. I took a step forward thinking I could help, somehow fix things, but I stopped cold when I realized that the woman was tearing through the van like a hurricane. It didn't make sensea"why was she ignoring her daughter? What was she looking for? She whipped around, wild-eyed, searching. I froze, thinking that maybe it was me she was searching for, retribution her focus. She went as still as I. We waiteda"the only noise from the backseat, an endless "mommymommymommy" . . . thumping against my head like a heartbeat. Then I realized the woman was staring at the missing winds.h.i.+eld. As if a switch were flipped, her face twisted into waves of panic and frenetic energy. Her whole body contorted with pain and then I understood, even though I pushed it away, trying to slam shut the doors to my awareness.

No.

No.

No.

I still couldn't move. I watched the mother as she gazed beyond me, desperate. Then her face changed and I knew. I turned around as she flew past. She was headed to the crumpled pile of b.l.o.o.d.y blond curls in the leaves. She was running to Oliver.

6.

the distribution of guilt.

Waves of fear and horror washed over me. I was drowning. If I screamed long and loud, maybe I would disappear from the inside out. I wanted to die, but that really wasn't an option anymore.

That's when I felt fingers gently brus.h.i.+ng against my forehead, almost as if they were trying to sweep away the ugliness that was imprinted there. I quieted, staying fetal on the floor, eyes closed, heart beating like a trapped hummingbird inside my chest. I could feel Oliver sitting inches from my head.

"Why are you crying, Elliot?"

"I am so, so sorry, Oliver." Each word was ripped from my gut. Tears streamed down my face.

"Why are you sorry?"

I heard the sc.r.a.ping of a chair and feet pounding against the wooden floor. The contents of someone's stomach emptied into a nearby garbage can. I cringed. My own stomach lurched wildly. Maybe if I'd reacted so strongly to someone else's Delves when I was a First or Second Timer, I wouldn't be lying here on the floor right now.

"Elliot, why are you sorry?"

The heaving had stopped and everyone in the room was deathly silent. I couldn't hear another sound besides the velvet lilt of Oliver's words. I craved the sight of his face, was desperate to see the same kindness that was in his voice, but the urge to hide from the rest of the room was stronger. I could feel dozens of eyes boring into me. I didn't want to know who was hunched over a dirty trashcan. I pictured the looks of disgust on everyone's faces. Everyone would have seen what had happened in my Delve.

With lids shut tight, I pulled my limbs in tighter. The silence was palpable. What do you say to the guy that you murdered? Are there words that could reach past the surface? I had ripped him away from his life. I opened my eyes and searched his face. We were nose to nosea"he'd tipped over, mirroring my position on the floor. Oh G.o.d, he was smiling at me.

He nodded matter-of-factly and said, "It's okay."

What was he thinking? It could never be okay. Never. I'd killed him.

I had two options. I could close my eyes again and spend all of eternity right where I was or I could lift up my head and meet the eyes of everyone else in the room. I could face the people who weren't delusional like Oliver. I wasn't fond of either option.

"You're all right, Elliot," Mel said.

It sounded like she was talking me down off the edge of a cliff. I wanted to believe her, but there was no way that anything could ever be all right again. Obviously there wasn't a h.e.l.l or I would've been magically transported there instantaneously. Or maybe this was h.e.l.l. Maybe heaven was innocence, limbo was ignorance, and h.e.l.l was fiery illumination.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Mel said. "Please."

I lifted my chin, letting her gaze at the disappointment of me. I was waiting for the ugliness I was feeling to make itself visible in the windows of her eyes. Beat after beat, my heart ticked off the seconds, and yet there was no disgust or hatred in her face. I didn't deserve it, but I was grateful.

"I'm bad, Mel. I'm really, really bad." My voice quivered.

"You're not bad," she said.

"Okaya"whatevera"but what I did was horrible. Thoughtless." Once again I could hear Julia talking about how I was self-absorbed. I shook my hand like there was still a cell phone in it I needed desperately to get rid of. "Did youa"did you see his mother? Oliver's mom? Oh, I can't . . ." I sat up but started to hyperventilate. Oliver gently tucked my head between my knees.

"Elliot, you're not bad, you've just been blindsided by your memories," Mel said.

"I can't turn it offa"the pictures in my heada"it's all I see now." The acid from my stomach was rising up into my throat again. Everything was bitter and raw.

I could feel Oliver's hand resting lightly on my back. Part of me wanted to shake off the unbearable weight of him, but he was the only anchor I had. Without Oliver to ground me, I suspected that the rational part of me would take flight and disappear. It was tempting to fall apart, but something wouldn't let me go there. Some primal defense mechanism kicked in. Wasn't it human nature to blame someone else when things go wrong? Suddenly I felt p.i.s.sed. Where was Julia? She should've been here. Friends shouldn't be around for just the fun stuff. Best friends are supposed to be there for you when ugliness seeps out of your soul. I jumped to my feet.

Fired up, I dared Mel to really examine me.

She spoke softly. "You're not the first person to be overwhelmed by such strong memories. In fact, I've been here awhile and you know that Obmil time is a lot longer than regular time. I've seen my share. Shocking revelations are par for the course. That's what happens here, although I will admit, you're the first soul I've met whose memories couldn't wait until you were settled in the Swing. So, while you may be a bit hasty in your approach," she gave a tiny smile, "you're not alone. I promise you won't feel like this forever if you continue to Delve and try to see. The point isn't just to learn about our past, it's to learn from it."

I wanted to believe her. I could feel myself swaying, wanting to be convinced of an eternal fairy-tale ending. I allowed myself to look around the room. I was met with pair after pair of scrutinizing eyes. They didn't appear angry or disgusted, but there was something there. It felt like curiosity, or maybe even fear. Perhaps they were remembering their own ugly secrets and fearing exposure. Maybe they were happy not to be me right now. I couldn't blame them for that. I didn't want to be me either.

I felt a chill dance along my spine. That's when I saw Trevor.

He was standing with one leg thrown over a loft railing, acting as if he might spring down upon me. He had created his Workshop s.p.a.ce in the form of a catwalk that ran all the way around the room. It was both disconcerting, having him patrolling the area above everyone, and a relief, because he'd moved away from Oliver.

He tapped his chest twice, driving my line of sight to his T-s.h.i.+rt. It now read IT'S NOT PARANOIA IF THEY REALLY ARE AFTER YOU. Great. He already had a strong instinctual hatred for me, and now I'd just proven that maybe his gut instincts were right.

I forced myself to stare at him and then I knew why there was no hatred in the faces below. Trevor owned all of it. There was nothing left for anyone else. The last thing he did before hopping down over the rail was mouth one single word.

b.i.t.c.h.

7.